Teach Your Heart: A New Zealand Opposites Attract Romance (Far North Series Book 3)

by Tracey Alvarez

  “Not sure we have any sausages left, Charlie-chimp. How about you get dressed, and I’ll check the freezer?” Total stall tactic. The freezer was filled with a couple of whole chickens, trays of minced beef, and packets of frozen vegetables. And ice cream, of course. Bribery for the kids to eat their vegetables.

  Charlie shook her head, water droplets flying from her long curls. “I am dressed, and I want sausages not tutus for dinner.”

  Owen snuck a glance at Gracie. Her lips curved into a small smile, her eyes creasing at the corners. Yeah, he got it. He totally sucked at this. Which was why, as an au pair, she was much more qualified to deal with this mess than he was.

  “William, can you take your sister—”

  “Nope. My arm’s sore.”

  The mulish set to William’s jaw was a mirror image of his mother’s—a similarity that sent a shard of pain carving through him. Add to that a large dose of guilt. The other thing he’d meant to pick up from the supermarket was a party pack of ice for the boy’s wrist.

  “I want sausages!”

  Owen scrubbed a hand through his hair, heat rising up his neck in a steady, panicked tide. Panic? He didn’t panic. Not with his years of training. The bloody, battered, sometimes puking patients and their freaked-out, wailing relatives—the everyday stuff he dealt with on the floor. Yet his rib cage crushed his lungs as his gaze jumped between his about-to-explode niece and his injured nephew. He turned to Gracie, swiping a damp palm down his shorts’ leg.

  “You’ve qualified as an au pair, right?”

  “I wouldn’t say qualified.” Gracie leaned back into the couch and pursed her lips. “It was kind of an on-the-job training. The parents were on holiday in Paris, and we got talking in the café I was working in. They liked the way I interacted with Isabella and Luca, and since their au pair had just returned home to Australia”—Gracie rolled a shoulder—“once again, right time, right place.”

  “You worked in a Parisian café?” Tiny warning beeps sounded in the back of his mind.

  She nodded. “And before that, Frankfurt, Brussels, and Naples. After the Swiss gig, I moved back to London, got a job walking dogs in the early mornings, then a barista shift in a café…” Her gaze dropping to her fingers, which twisted in her lap. She untangled her restless hands and squarely met his gaze. “But I’ve had enough of Europe. I’m going to try out for a US summer camp placement in May, then maybe move up to Canada to do ski instructor training next winter. I haven’t made up my mind.”

  “What sort of dogs did you walk? I like dogs.” Charlie edged closer to the couch, tantrum evidently put on hold.

  Gracie smiled at her and listed some of the names and breeds of the dogs she’d cared for. Owen shoved his fists into his shorts, wrestling with the warning beep growing louder and louder in his brain.

  I haven’t made up my mind. Alison had said that over and over growing up—so much so that it’d become a teasing family phrase.

  “Ali, have you made up your mind yet?”

  Astronaut or ballerina? Dive instructor or author? Lawyer or marine biologist? Alison’s career choices changed daily, her decisions impulsive and often only aligning with that week’s interests. And as an adult, one of those spur-of-the-moment decisions had likely contributed to her death.

  Owen cast another glance over at the couch. Charlie squeezed to sit between Gracie and William, his niece’s little hand resting on Gracie’s knee as she listened in rapt attention. Would Gracie even last the remaining weeks, or would she disappear if a more tempting overseas offer appealed to her wanderlust nature?

  It didn’t matter. He’d make it worth her while to stay at least long enough for him to find a more suitable replacement. And by “suitable,” he meant another woman in her sixties who didn’t make his blood pressure spike just by being around her.

  Chapter 5

  You had to feel a little sorry for a man who looked as if his dog had died, then his best mate ran off with his woman after reversing into in his prized car—all rolled into one like a terrible country-western song. After Gracie had talked Charlie down from the edge of pitching a fit, she suggested to Owen that she and Morgan organize a green salad to go with the barbecued “tutus.” When Charlie’s lip once again quivered at the mention of the shellfish, Gracie said they’d whip up an omelet.

  “What about the tutus?” Charlie said.

  “Well, that’s my fault. I didn’t think it through when we collected them. They’re probably more for older kids like William and Morgan.”

  Little hands fisted on Charlie’s hips. “I can eat anything William and Morgan eat. I can eat a lot more.”

  Owen’s shoulders sagged, and he blew out a pent-up breath.

  “We’ll be in the kitchen if you need us,” Gracie said.

  “Thank you.” He edged toward the deck and the covered barbecue in the corner.

  In the end, Charlie ate a double helping of the yucky tongue shells, and only a couple of bites of the just-in-case omelet. Dinner was a chaotic affair, with three different conversations taking place at the same time. Charlie and William argued over who ate the most tuatuas, with Morgan occasionally refereeing her younger siblings but most of the time tapping away on her phone. Gracie and Owen made a stilted attempt at small talk, and that part, admittedly, sucked.

  But the kids and the “pass the salad” and the “who would win between Voldemort and Sauron” gave her a tiny ache beneath her breastbone. She’d been away overseas for much of her nephews’ lives. She missed the crazy-loud family dinners at Erin and Jamie’s place, back when their kids were younger and her Count Dracula of a father hadn’t drained every last drop of fun out of her big brother.

  After dinner, Owen whispered in Morgan’s ear, and the teenager volunteered to get Charlie ready for bed. Dressed in daisy-print pajamas, Charlie came back into the living room to say good night. She went straight to Owen, who sprawled in one of the armchairs, nursing a beer. Charlie crawled onto his lap and with a quick glance over her shoulder at Gracie, cupped her hand and whispered into her uncle’s ear.

  “Now you can talk about Gracie looking after us, okay?” Then, with an Academy-Award-worthy yawn, she slid to her feet. “I’m so sleepy. I’m going to bed now.” She blinked her beautiful dark eyes at Gracie.

  From stage left out in the hallway came another whisper. “Remember what I told you to say?”

  Charlie shot an I know glare toward the door. The glare dissolved into pure, angelic sweetness as she turned back to Gracie.

  “Thank you for helping us, and please, please, please come and look after us. We’ll be really good; we promise.” Another glance to stage left. “And Uncle Owen will be really good, too—nighty-night!”

  With a giggle, Charlie scampered from the room. From out in the hallway came more giggling sounds and the soft thump of running footsteps—ignoring rule number two on Owen’s list.

  The man in question unfolded from his relaxed slouch and sat forward, forearms resting on his spread knees. In an instant, the frazzled uncle persona vanished, and she was transported back to the hospital waiting room where she’d first seen him. She hadn’t known in those first few seconds whether the brown-haired man crouched in front of William was the kid’s uncle or just a random Grey’s Anatomy-worthy doctor. He’d oozed professional control and a calm detachment—definitely a guy you’d want tending to you in a medical emergency. Only when he touched Charlie’s knee had Gracie guessed he wasn’t just any doctor; that was Uncle Owen.

  And now that his nieces and nephew were out of the picture, nothing uncle-ish remained. Owen had seemed off his game since he’d found her and the girls on the beach, so Gracie had slipped into the amused sympathy she’d once held for Glen the first time he’d babysat their oldest nephew, Tom. Her brother had discovered the results of leaving a toddler unsupervised for a minute with crayons.

  Prickles raced up and down Gracie’s spine. The controlled and super-calm ED doctor once again had a firm grip on the reins. And
unlike “Uncle Owen,” that guy made her want to bolt to the yellow Beetle and break speed limits to her brother’s house in the hills.

  But, dammit, she needed a job. Even a temporary job.

  Gracie took a sip—okay, gulp—of wine. “Give me the job description in a nutshell, and I’ll tell you if I’m anywhere in the ballpark of interested.”

  His hazel eyes gleamed at the challenge. Working in medicine, the man would be experienced in dealing with uncooperative patients. Uncooperative male patients. The women, she imagined, would fall all over themselves to be very cooperative.

  “Monday to Friday, I need to be at the hospital by 7:30 a.m. for handover from the night shift,” he said. “If I’m not pulling a double shift or filling in for one of my registrars or house surgeons, I can be home between six and seven, though it could be as late as ten.”

  “Those are some long hours.”

  Owen shrugged, the bunched muscles of his shoulder tightening under his shirt. “I’m a consultant, and long hours are part of the job.”

  Gracie must’ve made an involuntary huh? face, as he continued.

  “I’m responsible for providing care to the ED patients and overseeing the training of the registrars and house surgeons.”

  “You’re the big kahuna administrator, got it. No action for you.”

  Apparently, the label “administrator” ranked up there with the term pencil pusher, as Owen’s brows drew into a V.

  “Oh, I see plenty of action.”

  That hot little pebble returned to her lower belly again. She took another sip of wine to drown it. “You’ll possibly be working late each weekday evening. What about the weekends?”

  “I’m on call most weekends. And if there’s a major emergency in the area, then I need to go in to work at a moment’s notice.” The crinkled brow smoothed. “Which is why I’ll need you to live here at the house with the kids.”

  “You want me to entertain the kids twenty-four-seven?”

  “Not so much entertain as teach.”

  “Teaching? You mean the homeschool thing?” Possibly the worst candidate for any kind of teaching job, Gracie relied way too much on a spellcheck function, and everything she remembered about calculus could fit on a pinhead. Not to mention, she and authority weren’t exactly best mates.

  “And why are they homeschooled?” Medical reasons? Bullying? Two reasons that immediately popped into her mind.

  A muscle ticked in Owen’s jaw and he picked up his beer bottle with slow deliberation. “Their mother’s wishes.”

  Tentacles of tension spread through the muscles along her shoulders. “Ah. Morgan mentioned they’d lost both parents. I’m sorry.”

  He gave a curt nod, which was all kinds of subject is now closed. “As to the schooling part, the kids have worksheets I’ve printed from the Internet, plus workbooks they’ve been using. Their grandmother—my mum, who is their legal guardian—usually teaches them. But she’s recovering from major surgery and has to rest until at least the end of the first school term.”

  “And so you offered to take the three of them?”

  He shrugged. “There’s no one else. My older brother, Daniel, is overseas.”

  “This is a huge strain on your family and a massive upheaval for the kids. They’ve adjusted to living with you remarkably well, considering.”

  Owen scratched his fingers along his jaw, the first traces of five-o’clock stubble rasping under his nails. “Yeah.”

  It seemed as if he wanted to say more, but instead, he drew deep from his beer and pinned her with a direct glance. “I’m so far up shit creek, I can’t even see the shoreline, and I’m in no position to bargain since Mrs. Collins was my last resort.”

  Owen reached across to set the bottle back on the coffee table. Her gaze traced the cords and tendons under the tanned skin of his forearm then down to his long fingers. There was something to be said about a doctor’s hands…

  “You’d have your own space in the guest room out back,” he said. “And my days off from work will be your days off.”

  “How often do you voluntarily take a day off?” She harbored suspicions Dr. Bennett would rather deal with bloody trauma than his three cute charges.

  “Not as often as my boss would like.” There was a glimpse of straight white teeth as he flashed a smile. “So name your price.”

  Gracie’s heartbeat triple-timed. Name her price? Dear God…the possibility of paying off a huge chunk of her debt by the end of eight weeks? She sucked in a breath and hoped her voice would come out steady. “Fifteen hundred per week, including board.”

  “You don’t muck around. That’s a substantial sum of money.”

  “Not when you divide it into seven days a week, twelve hours a day—plus I bet you’d like a home-cooked meal waiting for you in the evening. You don’t just need an au pair; you need a wife for hire.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “And you’re offering to fill the role?”

  “For fifteen hundred a week, I’ll even toss in a few loads of laundry and nag as required, all while calling you darling.”

  Owen studied her with deepening crinkles around his eyes. Amused crinkles. Okay, so flirty-joking had totally misfired. Her mouth snapped shut, cheeks heating hot enough to fry eggs on. Keep it professional, Gracie—no flirting with your potential employer.

  He drummed his fingers on the armchair and tilted his head to the side. “Fifteen hundred a week, with a trial period of two weeks, and then we reassess. Agreed?”

  “That sounds fair.”

  Homeschooling: how hard could it be, right? ABCs with Charlie and supervised worksheets with the older kids. Granted, it sounded like ninth-circle-of-hell boring, but maybe she could tweak their program.

  “Payment on a month-by-month basis after the trial period,” he said.

  Huh? The glass in Gracie’s hand stopped halfway to her mouth. “Monthly?”

  Another flicker in his jaw. “To ensure you don’t have a sudden change of heart and leave.”

  Nice to know his opinion of her ranked so high. “Fine,” she said. “But I need middle weekend of March off, nonnegotiable, even if you’re on call. It’s my brother’s wedding.”

  “Done.” He stood, wearing the face of a man who’d gotten what he wanted with very little resistance. “I’ll show you your room.”

  Wait—what? “I thought I’d start Monday.”

  “I’m on call this weekend.” He held out a stop-sign palm as if she were about to argue. “Already rostered, honest. Can you start tomorrow? Please?”

  As loath as she was to admit it, a tiny part of her hadn’t looked forward to crashing at Glen and Savannah’s house. Boxed in by a super-loved-up couple and her a hot mess…

  “All right,” she said. “But I’d like to see Glen tomorrow.”

  “Invite him and Savannah down. I’ll throw some steaks and snags on the barbecue tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What about Nate and Lauren Fraser? Isn’t their son, Drew, only a little older than Charlie? It’d be nice for her to make a friend close by.”

  “Sure. Invite them all. It’ll be fun.”

  Morgan’s response after Gracie had denied being Owen’s new girlfriend popped into Gracie’s head. The girl’s mouth had twisted into a grimace. “Uncle Owen would rather date the hospital than a woman. He thinks work is way more fun.”

  Owen stood, angling himself toward the back door. “Well, I’ve got about two hours of busywork to get on with, so I’ll show you the room now.”

  Gracie kept her eye roll on the inside. “Lead the way.”

  Maybe it was a blessing in disguise she wouldn’t see much of her new employer over the next two months.

  ***

  After years of shift work in busy hospitals over the course of his career, Owen was used to waking early and waking instantly. What he wasn’t used to was prying open his eyelids to find his four-year-old niece’s face only inches away. Charlie lay on her side, hands tucked angelically under her
cheek but with a smile direct from one of Satan’s imps on her lips.

  “Hi, Uncle Owen.”

  Number nine on the list of house rules, conveniently ignored. Being unable to read was not an excuse.

  Owen squinted, conducting a quick mental scan of his body. Boxer shorts on? Check. None of Charlie’s decorated hairclips slid into his hair? Check. Bony-limbed Barbie doll absent from jabbing into his spine? Check.

  “Morning, Charlie.” Please don’t tell me you’ve found a way to bypass the child locks and conducted experiments with my bathroom products. Again. “You’re up early.”

  “I’m hungry, and Morgan and Will won’t get up to make me breakfast.”

  Owen rolled over, patting his nightstand until he found his phone. Six fifteen. Five hours’ sleep last night—restless sleep—plagued by dreams of a very adult nature and featuring his new live-in nanny. Could his subconscious be any more clichéd?

  He grunted and sat up, scrubbing his palms down his face. Thinking about Gracie while covered by a thin sheet was not a good idea while his niece was in the room. “Go and get the flour and sugar containers from the pantry, honey. I’ll make us pancakes.”

  With a whoop, Charlie scrambled out of his bed and skipped from the bedroom. Pancakes had been a Saturday morning tradition during his childhood. Pancakes and fresh fruit during summer—often fruit his father brought home from his summer job as a fruit picker—and pancakes with bacon and maple syrup in winter. The five of them crammed around the tiny dinette in Rambling Gypsies, the potbelly stove roaring. Or outside when it was warmer. Often with an incredible view of a lake or mountain range, depending on where they’d parked overnight.

  Owen dragged on yesterday’s cargo shorts and made a quick trip to the bathroom to splash water on his face. Caffeine came next. Finger-combing his hair, he wandered out of his room and into the kitchen—

  He stuttered to a halt at the sight of Gracie sitting on a barstool at the island counter.

  Dressed in striped flannel pajamas and sheepskin boots, she also wore a man-sized black sweatshirt with the too-long sleeves pushed up past her elbows. Her long hair was caught up in a messy bun, and she smiled at something Charlie said.